Being Quil Ateara
by Rosybud
Summary: See what it's like to be Quil after he imprints on Claire. Companion piece to my story Against the Pull of Gravity. One-shot.
1. Chapter 1: Part 1

**This is part 1 of 2 of the companion piece to my story Against the Pull of Gravity. I tried to make it so you didn't have to read that story to understand this, but it would probably help. **

**This is just something I started writing during a really boring English class…and kept writing during the Economics class that followed, and for about an hour and half when I got back to my dorm room that night. I'm sure my parents are proud that I'm putting the college education they're paying for to good use ;-)**

**Written in the style of **_**Being Jacob Black**_**—the **_**New Moon**_** extra on Stephenie Meyer's website. **

* * *

Being Quil Ateara

Imagine you're a normal kid, with normal friends and a normal life. You like to have fun, you like to make people laugh, you like girls. You're the typical teenager.

The future's too far off to worry about—you're a here and now kind of guy. And your grandfather shakes his head at you because he thinks you never take anything seriously. He's tired of getting calls from school telling him you started another fight…over a girl, over an insult, or just because you could. But you shrug. _I'm just having a little fun, _you say._ What's the big deal? _

He sighs. _Someday Quil, you'll understand._

You don't have time for his cryptic one-liners. There's other, weirder stuff going on. First Embry starts ignoring you and hanging with Sam, something that doesn't make any sense. Embry hated him, almost as much as you hate him. But there he is now, part of Sam's…_cult_. It pisses you off and you want to confront him—maybe a good punch is all it will take to get him back to normal.

But then Jake gets pulled into it too, and you're alone and confused. The world has turned upside down. Nobody will talk to you, nobody will tell you anything. It makes you so mad that you think you're going to explode. You can feel the heat spread across your skin, the instinctual tightening of muscle. You want to yell at someone, hit something—anything to make life go back to normal.

And then it happens. Just after your sixteenth birthday, it all comes crashing down, the heat, the anger, everything. It happens so blindingly fast, that building fire, the tight shaking anger that bursts inside of you, changing your shape into some huge alien thing. A werewolf. A shape-changer. A protector of the tribe. A member of the pack. Their voices are in your head, soothing, calm, telling you what you are, guiding you back to your human body. They're with you.

And afterwards, you can't hate the change—not the speed—not the power—not the strength—not even _them, _for keeping this from you. Because better than anything else is the fact that you have a family now, _brothers _who will always watch your back just like you'll watch theirs.

It's kind of like a dream, one you think you're going to wake up from any second. Your grandfather still says you're not taking it seriously enough. _It's not a game, _he lectures.But try as you might, none of it seems real

_She_ makes it real.

It's a cool, sunny spring afternoon. You go over to Sam and Emily's for lunch just like any other day. And Emily's nieces are playing out front, giggling and laughing as they throw leaves on each other. _Colleen and Claire_, Emily introduces. You've always had a soft spot for kids, so you kneel down to say hi.

And then you really see _her_, and you can't take your eyes off her, can't turn your head like you would if you were normal. Her name spins through your mind, _Claire, Claire, Claire_. Something keeps you frozen in front of her, entranced with her, with those shocking light grey blue eyes, and the dark hair full of leaves.

In the small part of your brain that isn't consumed by _her,_ you hear Emily in the background crying for Sam. She knows. She recognizes the expression on your face, one that you're slowly recognizing too. Sam and Jared's memories didn't do it justice, not now that you're experiencing it for yourself. When you realize you've stopped breathing, you pull in a hasty ragged breath.

You've imprinted.

On a baby.

And her little hand is reaching for you, holding it tightly in her tiny fingers. And it causes in you the strongest urge you've ever felt in your life: to pull her up into your arms and keep her there, safe and protected. You want to hear her laugh, want to make sure that she never knows what pain feels like, or fear. She should only know love, and happiness, and sunlight.

You look up to Sam's stony face seeking confirmation, even though you already know the truth. He understands exactly what is going through your mind, the primal, unstoppable tie that bounds you to this child. To Claire.

The truth passes between your shocked faces. Life will never be the same again.

* * *

Imagine the look on your brothers' faces when they find out what happened. They understand better than anyone else what has happened to you, but you still hear the shock in their thoughts. They pity you—that you have to wait decades for this girl, to know that kind of love.

But you don't want their pity. The truth is you're relieved, glad you still have your freedom—or a kind of freedom anyway. You're not ready for what Sam and Emily have, not ready to be absolutely tied to someone. You are still bound, but it is a different kind of bondage. Just as strong, but not as immediate, not as overpowering.

Claire has no expectations, no questions, makes no demands, and it's _easy_ to be with her.

If only Claire's mother would let you…

Her reaction is the worst, the one you fear most of all. But you have to tell her, have to explain why you cannot leave her daughter alone. Emily tries to help, but Claire's mother won't listen. And all you can see is the look in her eyes, the fear…. She's afraid you're going to scar her daughter the way Sam scarred Emily—or worse. And she's afraid she's not giving Claire a choice.

You promise her and yourself that Claire will always have a choice, that she'll never feel forced into this. But Claire's mother doesn't know, won't try to understand, and she sends you away.

So you stand on her doorstep, surprised by the strength of the pull that keeps you there. It's like there is a rope tying you to _her. _And Claire's mother looks in your eyes and sobs as you hold her, as you try to explain this thing that cannot be explained. Not with words.

Seeing Claire again is like a weight is lifted off your shoulders. You can breathe deep again now that you can watch her with your own eyes. You know you can keep her safe, keep her whole.

Your grandfather said you never took anything seriously enough, but that was before your world titled on its axis, before _her. _This isn't a game, and it makes you think seriously about your future for the first time in your life.

Your role in Claire's future.

Your world didn't stop when you imprinted, but the center changed. Things that seemed so important before seem so small afterwards. It's almost funny remembering how you used to start fights and chase girls, how you liked to flirt with them and make their boyfriends squirm.

It seems like forever ago, like you're a completely different person now, but one girl still remembers how you used to be. Her name is Meagan Read and she's the prettiest girl in school. You used to flirt with her, and piss her boyfriend off by telling her she could do so much better than him.

One year, one month and fifteen days after Claire, she finally agrees with you.

It's just a kiss. A slow, slow kiss, and you can tell by the way her lips are moving that she wants more. She's taking you up on all those teasing flirty offers you used to make.

But now it's as if someone's punched you in the gut, knocking the breath out of your lungs. You break away with a gasp. You don't know how to explain it but it just feels _wrong. _Wrong time, wrong place, wrong girl.

Jacob asked you once if you were ever going to date. One year, one month and fourteen days ago, Meagan would have been the girl you'd have picked. But now… now there is nothing you can give her.

It's not Meagan's fault. But it's not yours either.

The next day you go over to Claire's house; she smiles a huge bright smile and holds out her hand and mumbles some childish babble about being a princess that doesn't make much sense. You smile and ask what a princess's favorite food is since it's time for lunch.

_This _feels right. _This _feels real. _This _where you are supposed to be.

* * *

Imagine you're 24 years old. You realize it's been seven years since you kissed anyone. Even longer since you actually wanted to.

That's the strangest part of imprinting, the hardest thing to comprehend—the complete lack of desire. Most of the time you don't think about it, but one day, the realization that it's _gone_ hits you like lightning. You remember it so clearly from before. How all consuming it was. You've never felt anything remotely similar since. And you don't know if it's normal because there's no one to ask. All you know is that now there's only Claire, and her pull is just as consuming but so completely chaste you wonder if you'll ever feel real attraction again.

Her name is Elizabeth

You meet her when you go to Seattle with Seth, Embry, Collin and Jared to visit Leah. Of course, Leah warns her roommate Elizabeth which of the guys are available and which aren't, but when Elizabeth sees you, she forgets all about Leah's warnings.

At the bar, everyone scatters in different directions—to the girls or the pool table or the darts— looking forward to a night away from the rez, but you stick with Elizabeth.

She's funny. She makes you laugh and that hasn't happened in awhile, but then, after seven beers everything is looking a lot funnier.

You try to see her face, try to remember if you would have thought she was pretty back when you could actually see things like that. You concentrate on her lips, her eyes, her hair, but the picture never comes together. She's nothing more than individual features that for the life of you, you can't put together.

Does it matter?

She's into you… she pushes you up against the wall and you let her… just to see where she'll take it… where you'll let her take it. Her kisses are electric, hard and demanding. You have the faint feeling that if she'd done this to you when you were fifteen you would have died; you would have melted at her feet and given her anything she wanted.

Not now though. Now the strongest thing you can feel is the lack of it all. The lack of emotion, the lack of pleasure, the lack of _want_ for this woman. The void.

But you let her kiss you and you kiss her back, trying so hard to make it more than mechanical, fighting back guilt for using this woman in your sick experiment. Because in the back of your head you know that no matter how hard you kiss her, no matter where her hands go and what they do, and no matter how good she _should_ feel, that it will never ever work.

And then Claire's eyes flash in your mind. Those strange blue grey eyes. Only they're different somehow. Older. Perceptive. You know she won't begrudge you this kiss, or the rest if you choose to take it further. But her eyes stay in clear focus.

It's not exactly cheating, but it still isn't right.

So very gently, you push Elizabeth away, muttering apologies, hoping you won't remember the look on her face in the morning. She frowns up at you and tries to get you to change your mind. You walk away to the sound of her yells.

Five years from now, you won't even remember her name.

The next time you see Claire, you push down the guilt. You promise yourself that you'll never do it again. Not just to satisfy some curiosity. Claire deserves better than that.

* * *

Imagine you're 27 years old. Claire's starting to notice things. You can see it in her eyes when she looks at you. She's realizing you have secrets. She's finally putting the pieces of the puzzle together, and asking questions that no matter how many years you've had to prepare, you're still not ready for.

Claire is thirteen now, and it's hard to believe that eleven years have passed since the first time you saw her. You could never have imagined then how close you and that baby would become. That she would be your best friend, that you'd learn to love listening to her voice, no matter what she said, that you'd want to see her everyday, that you'd worry about her when you weren't around.

That you would need so much for her to accept you, exactly as you are.

You know it's time to tell Claire about the pack and what you are, but you're afraid. What if she looks at you differently? What if she's scared of you? You know it's irrational, but the idea of looking into Claire's eyes and seeing revulsion there would be too painful.

She's nervous at the bonfire. Nervous of these people who know everything about her. She leans into your side and you hate yourself for doing this to her. You tell yourself that she'd have to know eventually.

Emily agrees that it's time. Everyone does—if anything, they think you should tell Claire _more. _Everything. But you can't do that to her yet. She's too young—she doesn't need imprinting hanging over her head. She already knows that you are her best friend, that you'd do anything for her, the rest is unnecessary.

You'll take it one-step at a time.

You watch Claire's face carefully during your grandfather's story. You can tell that she thinks it's just a story, but she likes hearing it all the same. Her eyes light up, she's drinking it in. You wonder….

But the story ends and your grandfather begins another one, one you know just as well. He's being sneaky, giving you a hint, watching you squirm. The story of imprinting. And if Claire's eyes were bright before, they're shining now. She thinks it's romantic.

So you pull her away from the fire before your grandfather can do any more damage, down the cliffs. And you tell her, expecting her to look at you like you're crazy, and to start running back to her aunt. You expect to see her eyes widen, and the one look you never wanted to see fill them: fear.

But Claire's not afraid. She's not even nervous. She listens carefully, quietly. And she accepts it. She holds out her little, cool hand and hugs you. And you realize for the first time that you're completely powerless against her… and you don't even care.

* * *

Imagine the sight of someone you love just inches away from the frozen, murderous lips of your enemy. The shock that spreads from your belly to your heart, making it beat impossibly fast. Feeling the rage explode in your veins.

Jared makes an awful screaming sound and launches himself at the vampire, tearing its head from its shoulders. Some of you move to stand protectively around Kim, and some of you help Jared finish the bloodsucker off. But it's his kill.

It's the worst thing any of you can imagine. Being unable to protect the one you love from the thing you were _born_ to kill.

None of you could have seen it coming.

Everyone knows that Kim has nightmares afterwards, terrible dreams of what might have happened if you hadn't gotten to her in time. She tries to brave, she tries to hide it, but all Jared can think about at night is the sound of her screams.

The guilt eats away at each of you, the fear that because of what you are you'll never stop hurting your loved ones. There is Sam's double guilt—for breaking Leah's heart, for scarring Emily. And Jared knows that it was _his _scent on Kim that made the vampire curious…

And then there is _your _fear that you will somehow hurt Claire too. Maybe it will be subtler than the others. Maybe someday you'll make her feel like she has no other choice but you. Maybe you'll hurt her by needing her so selfishly.

But worse than that is the fear that maybe someday a vamp will come across her and she won't be as lucky as Kim… It's agonizing to think that _you_ are the one putting her in danger, when all you've ever wanted was her safe and whole.

So you do what you promised yourself you would never do. You break her heart.

It's a hot humid day, but you don't feel the heat, can't focus on anything but the words you've rehearsed over and over again in your head. If Claire notices your distraction, she doesn't say anything.

It's the hardest thing you've ever done, telling her that you're leaving, but it doesn't stop you.

The feel of her little fists against your chest…the sight of her tears…the sound of her voice saying _I hate you_. She means it. You've never heard her sound like that before, never seen her look that way.

When she trips in the sand, your entire body is screaming at you to pick her up and apologize, to never let go again. But somehow, you stay still, letting only your eyes follow as she stumbles down the beach. _For Claire, for Claire, for Claire…_

It's impossible to fight against the pull of gravity. But for her, you'll do anything.

* * *

**I'm halfway done with part 2, so look for it some time this week. And don't don't forget ****to vote for Against the Pull of Gravity at the Twilight Awards Breaking Dawn Round! Voting ends on October 30th. **

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Part 2

**I am SO sorry it took me so long to update. Life has caught up like crazy with me in the last couple weeks. Stupid midterms. **

**Anyway, thanks for all the reviews and favorites. I hope you like this too.**

* * *

_When she trips in the sand, your entire body is screaming at you to pick her up and apologize, to never let go again. But somehow, you stay still, letting only your eyes follow as she stumbles down the beach_. For Claire, for Claire, for Claire…

_It's impossible to fight against the pull of gravity. But for her, you'll do anything. _

xxx

Imagine that all the time, no matter where you go, there's an ache. It's settled on your shoulders, in your chest, making everything heavy, every movement painful. And it does not go away. Ever.

_Stay with me._

You remember her broken voice when she spoke those words and the look in her eyes. It's what you see and hear every time you close your eyes. And it's too much. Too hard.

It would be so easy to end the pain. All you have to do is run—and you could do it with your eyes closed because there's only ever been one place to run to. Steel cable is connecting you to Claire, and it _pulls_ at you all the time, until you have to grit your teeth and dig your feet into the ground to keep from running to her.

You imagine what it would be like, can almost feel the weight being lifted off your shoulders, as you're finally able to breathe deeply again. But you resist. Claire will always be more important than your pain. She will always mean more.

It's almost a relief when the bloodsuckers come. You throw yourself into the hunt, ready to kill as many of them as you can for Claire, since it's all you can do for her. And as you rip and tear at them, you promise yourself that you'll never let them anywhere near her. You'll never let them get that close.

One breaks away from the fight, knowing its only chance for survival is to run away. But it's running towards Claire.

With a growl, you bound after it, sprinting as fast as you can. And without your brothers there to help it's the fight of your life, but you won't let the leech win. No matter how many times or how hard it pummels you, no matter how far it throws you, no matter how many of your bones it breaks or how much blood it draws, you will never let it win.

So too, is it a relief to let the darkness slide over your eyes when the bloodsucker lies around you in pieces. You let the pain eclipse that never-ending ache, and it feels like a release, like finally letting go of a long held sigh.

You can hear them whispering, smell the icy burning stench of bloodsucker and feel the doctor's cold hands examining you. Through blurred disoriented eyes, you see him shake his head, hear their gasps. You know what has them so scared; you hear the finality in their voices. But you're not afraid, you're not even upset. Death seems easier than facing a world without _her_ in your arms. A world where someone else holds her, where someone else loves her. Emily yells at you, she tells you you're an idiot—that you should think of Claire.

_I am, _you tell her, and let yourself hide in the blackness again.

You dream of her there. You see her face and she's smiling at you. Her fingers are hesitant against your skin, her lips feather soft.

Only… it's not a dream this time. Those hands are real, that voice—so scared and lonely—is calling out to you. The strongest pull of your life. The one thing you can't fight against.

And she's telling you that she loves you, and she's holding you, and she forgives you... And it's too much. Too agonizing, even worse than leaving her before. More real, more absolute.

Death is calling for you, its voice soft and seductive as it promises numbness from the incessant ache. But it's bitter now because Claire is calling too, and her voice is even sweeter, softer and scared as she begs you not to leave her.

And you can't resist her pull this time. Whatever it is that that connects you is too strong to break, too much to leave. There is no choice.

There never has been.

Despite the pain of your broken body, you feel whole with her._ Well_. For the first time since you left there is nothing pulling at you, no indescribable hurt, just _want_. You want to live for her and by her and with her, so you'll take whatever comes. You push away death and go back. Back to a fifteen-year-old Claire who is unbelievably dangerous. Back to a different kind of ache—a _good_ kind of ache—but even more powerful.

You thought you would never feel it again, the wanting. And she's still so young, but you feel it stirring inside you. You can't deny that she hasn't changed. Can't pretend it away, just like you can't pretend away the look she gets in her eyes sometimes when she watches you.

You always knew this would be the most dangerous time. The hardest. When she's just testing out adulthood, looking more and more like a woman, when other guys are starting to notice her. You know you have to step back and let her live, let her make her mistakes. All you can do is be there for her.

Things are changing. Your feelings are evolving, becoming deeper. You push down at them. _Not yet_, you tell yourself. _Not yet_.

But you're not going anywhere. You have all the time in the world to wait for her.

* * *

Imagine that you're 30 years old. Almost half your life has been spent with Claire… and she still doesn't know the reason why. She doesn't know that it only took one look at her to change your life, or that she's at the center of your entire world. She doesn't know why you're at her house almost every day, and she especially doesn't know that sometimes you lie awake at night just thinking about her.

She doesn't know, but should she?

It's so hard defining the boundaries of your new relationship. Deciding how much distance is enough. What's too much or not enough; what Claire can handle. But if you could just _hold _her, you know the world would right itself and the cord would stop tugging. Because holding Claire's hand, and putting an arm around her is not enough. You want to hold her tightly so that you can feel her heartbeat against yours, so you can fold her little body inside your arms, and bury your face in her hair.

If only you could just hold her.

Does she feel it too? The pull. The need. You are bitterly aware that Claire has not imprinted, that at any moment she could say enough's enough, and walk away. She could simply outgrow you. Could you live with that? Will you ever have to?

_Claire's in love with you Quil… _Colleen says._ Didn't you know?_

The words hit you like an electric shock. They seem impossible, but of all people, Claire's sister would know. Wouldn't she?

If it's true, maybe it's why Claire doesn't seem interested in any of the boys her age, why she wants to be closer to you—see all of you. Wants to see your wolf form. She's curious about you she says.

And you can't deny her because it's such a small thing to ask, such a dangerously small thing. And not dangerous because you're afraid of hurting her like Sam hurt Emily, but because you know you won't be able to hide after you phase.

Hiding. It's all you seem to do with Claire. You hide by not looking at her too close or too much even though you could spend all day just looking and it still wouldn't be enough. By trying to keep a careful distance between you and not touching her unless she initiates it. By not noticing when she stares, even though it gives you a peculiar little thrill every time she does.

But you know it will all be different in your wolf form.

And when she gently runs her fingers through your fur, and presses herself against you, feeling you—seeing straight through you, there is no hiding what you feel for her. It's impossible. And if you had arms they'd be locked around her, but it's almost bearable you don't, because she's holding you tightly. She's so close that you can feel her heart beating, you can smell her, you can even taste her when you lean forward to give her a big, wolfy kiss.

You're just an overgrown dog, and it makes it easier to be with her, it makes you let both your guards down. She leans back against you, both hands twisted in your fur. And you can't take your eyes off her, you never want to phase back and resume that carefully kept distance. It will be torture not touching her after this.

_I love you. I love you. I love you. _

You repeat the words over and over again in your head, almost wishing she could hear you. And you know with the same certainty that you know the truth of those words, that this will never be enough.

* * *

Imagine.

Almost seventeen. She's almost seventeen. And she knows that there's more to the story than you've been telling her, but she has no idea—could not possibly expect in her wildest dreams the truth of what you have to tell her.

And in that plan you thought up before you knew how hard it would be, you thought she would be older when you told her about imprinting. You thought it would be easy—just an _oh, by the way_ conversation when she was done with college and had decided you were the one for her.

You were an idiot for thinking it would be so easy.

Because it's not easy. It's the hardest thing you will ever do. But you know there's no more use pretending that nothing has changed that day on the cliffs. It's a beautiful sunny afternoon and Claire wants to cliff dive like she used to see you and the pack do sometimes, and you can't say no to her even though it scares the hell out of you. So you jump first and tread water as she stands on the jutting outcrop of rock above you. She's so beautiful you can't even breathe right. And you know as soon as she jumps, down and down and down, that there is no going back.

Because you love her.

Because she loves you?

You've seen the truth of Colleen's words on Claire's face, you've heard it in the way she says your name. It's in her hesitancy, in her intensity. And you want her to love you. Want it more than anything you've ever wanted before. More than you want to run, more than you want to hunt. More.

And that day on the cliffs when she falls through the water and doesn't surface, your heart stops. And it doesn't start again until you've pulled her up onto the beach and you can hear her breathing, see her eyes flutter.

She feels it too. You've never been more certain of that. And in that second—that awful second when she doesn't emerge from the water, you see what it would be like without her. So as you lie on the beach, you can't stop your hands from moving over her skin, and you can't hide anymore.

Because you don't want to.

Because you want Claire to see that it's_ her_. That it's always been her, and never more so than in this moment when your arms around her in the sand, and her skin is soft and burning underneath your fingertips.

There's never been anyone else—there never will be anyone else. Just her. Just Claire. And she needs to know that.

Her face is flushed, and there's sand in her black hair, and her grey eyes are bright and open, locked on you as you let yourself feel for the first time, what this could be like, what tearing down the walls and loving her and living with her will be like after letting her in on the last secret.

You want to melt into her skin. You want to lose yourself in the softness of her, in the sweet salty smell of her. You want to open your mouth and tell her how much you love her.

You want to kiss her.

Just one kiss. One endless kiss. Because you know that once you start this you'll want to kiss her every single day afterwards. You'll want to pull her into your arms and keep her there.

But that stupid plan! For sixteen years it's all you've had, and it's so hard to go against it now….And Claire should know what one simple kiss is the start of. The beginning of. Because it's not just a kiss. It's so, _so_ much more.

So you pull yourself away, feeling every part of you twist and snap, every atom protesting the distance. And you know as you sit hunched in sand that it's time.

Oh God is it time.

* * *

Imagine how hard it would be to say the words. You almost wish you didn't have to. But Emily says that Claire is afraid of what she feels for you. That she's afraid that it's not allowed, or even that it's wrong. So you push down the misgivings and you try to get the words out in a way that won't scare her. You try to make imprinting sound as harmless as possible, even though you know harmless is the last thing it is. And you've never been good with words, but you try anyway.

_I need you. _

That's what you want to say.

_I love you. _

That's what you try to make her understand.

But the look in Claire's eyes scares you. There's no happiness in them, no acceptance. Just sadness. Maybe Colleen and Emily are wrong. Maybe you've been misinterpreting all those little looks and touches. Or maybe she just doesn't want to be your imprint. You could see how it might scare her, the strength of your need.

So you back off and tell her that it's up to her what she does with the truth. You tell her you have no expectations, will never ask for anything more than she can give you. You mean it. And she's so quiet and still, it kills you that _you_ put that look in her eyes.

You manage to walk ten normal steps after you take Claire back to her aunt's house before you start running. You want to yell at something—at yourself for messing it all up so badly. You hate yourself for not getting the words out right. For saying them at all.

It took you four years to control your phasing. Four years until you could push down at whatever emotion that was too much for your human body to handle.

But as you run, all that hard-earned control is gone. You can feel the anger racing through your veins, making your muscles tense and strain as you try to keep the rage from taking over. With a guttural cry that seems to echo through the forest around you your body shatters. And it's nothing like the smooth transformations you've gotten so good at. It's primal, unstoppable, and the heat of it burns through your body.

You run and run—in wide circles though because you don't want to go too far away. And you hope that it was all a dream, you hope that when you finally calm down enough to phase back that Claire will be waiting for you with her arms open.

But she's not. And for weeks and weeks there is nothing but awkwardness between you. You try to show her that it can still be normal, that you can still be friends, but she's so hesitant and guarded. You never know for sure what she's thinking. She seems sad. And you can't be sure, but you think she feels guilty—but for what? For hurting you? For not being able to give you what you need? For not loving you back?

You want to ask her, but you're afraid of the answer. You're afraid she'll say that she'll never see you as more than a friend. And you try to tell yourself that you'd be content with that, but you can't forget the soft feel of her that day on the beach, and that fierce look in her eyes. It seemed so clear then that she wanted you.

And you wish that you'd ignored Sam and Emily and the rest and just kept your mouth shut, because this building tension and unhappiness is ruining everything. And it's not until the bonfire that things start to change. For the first time since the beach you see _that_ look in her eyes again, free of the guilt that mars every glance Claire's given you since you told her about imprinting.

And you promise yourself that you'll stop being so afraid of the truth. That you'll get to the bottom of whatever it is that's been eating away at her, even if kills you. She doesn't want to tell you, but at last she does. And you want to laugh—or maybe you want to shake her, because she thinks you're stuck. _Stuck! _As if you could ever want anything else—any _one _else. As if the last sixteen years—at least when you weren't being stupid—haven't been the best of your life.

But because you can almost see Claire's point, you know have to make her understand. And it's not the time to be vague. It's not the time to be cautious or afraid or polite.

You need her.

You want her.

You love her.

And for the first time you make sure that she knows it. And as soon as you say the words the heaviness and awkwardness seems to dissipate instantly. It's been months since you've seen Claire_really_ smile, and that alone is enough to make you ecstatic. But then she takes a deep breath and says the words you were afraid you'd never hear. _I love you Quil._

And there's nothing to stop you from kissing her now. No secrets, no misunderstandings. And it's the first real kiss you've had in sixteen years—in your whole life maybe, and it feels better than anything you've ever felt before. Even better than you thought it would be. It's not possible to describe the feeling, but it's like that cord that has always pulled you towards her is gone, there's no need for it anymore. Infinitely complete.

Imagine that you have waited years and years for her, and no matter the pain, the fear, the aches… it is all worth it. Whatever the future may bring, good or bad, you have _this. _You have Claire. And you'll never need anything more than that.

THE END

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**Don't forget to vote for my story Against the Pull of Gravity at the Twilight Awards. Voting ends on October 31****st****. I'll be forever grateful. I put the link in my profile. **

**And please review! I'd love to know what you think of this. **


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